And not to toot my own horn, but I’ve been sculpting that butt through brutal ballet classes for like fifteen years.
Not a single response.
I exhale, making a face as I stare at my last few messages to him from the past few days.
BrokenBee
Hi again
A day after that:
BrokenBee
Not trying to be weird, I just wanted to thank you for the other night. It was perfect
A few days later, after three glasses of wine:
BrokenBee
If you didn’t have a good time, would you mind giving me feedback? I’m new to this and I’d love to know what I could do better
God. That one in particular makes me cringe when I read it. Hard. But then I glance at the last one, from two days ago:
BrokenBee
You didn’t break me, you know
“Ooo, what’s that?”
I almost have a seizure as I all but throw my phone up in the air. I manage to catch it, my breath, and my runaway heart before I turn to look up at Milena with a white, blank expression.
“Um, what?”
She arches a brow, smirking at me.
“Who were you messaging, and what app is that?”
“Tinder,” I blurt, shrugging casually.
Milena gives me a look. “Uh, no it’s not.”
“Sure it is. New interface.”
Her grin widens. “Yeah? Prove?—”
For once, I’m actually grateful for the cold, barking voice of Madame Kuzmina telling us to get off our lazy asses and to the barre.
Mercifully, Milena has either forgotten about what she saw or has decided to give me a pass on it by the time our day is over. I say goodbye to her and Naomi after they shower and change, then grab my stuff and head out the back door to go find a cab.
To my shame, when the hand clamps over my mouth, and another rough, powerful hand grabs my arm and shoves me against the brick wall, my first emotion isn’t fear.
It’s excitement.
A, because as I’ve mentioned, I’m a freak with issues. And B, because my first fucked-up thought is that it’s him. That he’s back. That he wants to play again…
“You fucking bitch.”
It’s the voice that takes me from deliciously, dangerously excited to freaked the fuck out.